MAXIMum Fallout
by Magdalync
Summary: Sequel to Maxim Online Survey. What happens after Stephanie presses send? Babe story


MAXIMum Fallout

Spoilers: Through 14

Rating: M

A/N This story is a sequel to Maxim Online Survey. You'll have to have read the Survey first for this to make any sense. I wrote this for those who expressed an interest in what happened after Stephanie pressed 'send'…

MAXIMum Fallout

Cripes. What the hell had I been thinking? Okay, so I'll admit I've been a little stressed the last few days. I've been off of sugar; even my period jeans had gotten tight so _something_ had to be done. I'd rolled in garbage twice today and caught neither of my skips and my rent was a teensy bit past due. I came home and took a shower in order to clean up and it turns out my shower message is on the fritz. Hey, I had a spasm in my lower back. Get your mind out of the gutter. After slathering on lotion and jerking and snagging my hair into submission, I poured my bloated, battered body into sweats and decided to surf the web. Come on, you have to admit that Maxim does have some pretty good articles. And I'd never admit it to the boys, but so does Playboy. Plus, I feel obligated to read sexual advice any magazine doles out to men, purely for research purposes, mind you. For the most part, I can admit that most of the suggestions found in said articles are spot on. However, I strongly disagree that most women secretly harbor lesbian fantasies. She'd have to be _really_ pretty and…never mind!

Two Coronas and a muscle relaxer later, (I incurred a minor back injury as there was a slight incident this morning at the Tasty Pastry between me, Mrs. Bethelsda and the last Boston crème.) I found myself surfing the internet.

First of all, I didn't initially realize that the survey was meant exclusively for men. I mean, yes, the erection questions did give me pause, but I was able to recover myself quickly. It's not like I'm totally unfamiliar with erections. It could be said I've had more than a nodding acquaintance with one or two…or three.

So it was late thirty (I'd have to ask Ranger, but I think the military time equivalent is O-it's-freakin'-late hundred hours) and I'm a little loopy, and I come across this survey and I'm thinking maybe it's like a Cosmo survey. You know, "Are You Naughty or Nice?" or "What Do Your Panties Say about You?", or "What's Your Vagina _Really_ Telling You?"

I didn't realize it was a survey for, for lack of a better phrase, educational purposes. I suppose the survey started with some explanation, but who reads that crap? Does anyone really read the instructions that come with their cell phone? Green button, send, red button, end, and if you need anything else just fiddle around with the buttons and see what happens!

Once I really started getting going with the survey, I started to get my knickers in a twist, and not just about the sex. Don't get me wrong, there were some real panty twisting moments that one night, not that there were any panties involved…but I digress.

The thing that really got to me was the more I started really thinking about the sex, more precisely, the sex with the two most significant men in my life, I realized you can really tell a lot about a person by what they bring to you as a lover. Are they giving or selfish? Is there complete trust? Do they communicate their wants and needs solely on a physical level or is there something deeper running through the shared acts of intimacy?

I'm not going to lie and say the night Ranger and I were together that we were barely suppressing declarations of undying love. But since that night, the level of intimacy, the connection, the feelings of trust and yes, love, have grown so much deeper from our friendship and those small acts of affection. Joe and I are stagnant. We are comfortable. We love, but we are not in love. I'd never really let myself think in those terms before. Stupid survey.

The more of the survey I completed, the more obvious it became that I needed to reassess and change "What Was Going On in My Bedroom." In a completely irrational moment of Hungarian Hormonal Angst, (a scientifically proven affliction) I forwarded my completed survey not only to the editors of Maxim, but also to Joe and Ranger.

Fact: Morelli is going to have an aneurism. Good news is I may not have to witness it since Ranger _may_ have already secured arrangements to have Tank crate me up and load me onto a cargo plane by dawn with a one way ticket to Yemen.

Five minutes after I pressed send, two things happened simultaneously. I received an instant message from Ranger and my cell phone rang.

"What the hell?!"

"Hey, Joe." I took a sip of my third beer. Medicinal purposes, you understand.

"What the hell?!"

"I'm sensing a theme here."

Silence. Well, silence with heavy breathing. I'm pretty sure he was clutching his phone in a white knuckled grip and staring at his shoes.

"Joe, maybe you should call back when you're able to speak."

"What the hell was that?"

"It was a survey."

"Cupcake, I know it was a survey. I took the same fucking survey not twenty minutes ago."

"So…you got the e mail?"

"Damned skippy, I got the e mail. Hold on. Let me scroll up to the top. I've got a few questions for you."

"Do I have the right to an attorney?"

"Can it, Cupcake. Okay…number of sex partners….there's me, then The Dick…then me again? That's technically only two."

I pressed a finger to my twitching eyelid. "No. I went to college, Joe. I can count."

"So someone in college?"

"No."

"You're not going to tell me who number 3 is?"

"Are you going to tell me who number 233 is?"

"That's different."

"Do tell."

"Yada, yada, yada…achieving an erection…that's actually pretty funny."

"Hmmm."

"Shower massager, I see no problems there…Ahh, yes. Bondage. Dirty talk. Role playing. I'm not recalling _any_ of this. You kept saying, 'that one night', and I gotta say I'm drawing a blank. Sounds like a night I'd remember."

"Hmmm."

"Silk scarves, authority issues…booty play…was this that night we did tequila shots after the Super Bowl?"

"No."

"What?!"

Here goes nothing. "No, Joe. We were on a break."

Dead silence hummed on the line. With pure ice in his voice he said, "Who's the mercenary?" As if he didn't know.

I may be impulsive but I'm not stupid. "Um…"

"I'll fucking kill him." Click.

Okaaaaay. Let's check e mail!

RNGMN1: Babe.

PLMGRL: You may have a homicidal cop heading your way.

RNGMN1: Explain.

PLM: Is your medical insurance current?

RNG: Feeling playful?

PLM: I think I'm going to throw up.

RNG: Have you been drinking?

PLM: It's not my fault!

RNG: Babe.

PLM: Stop saying that! I can't _read_ your inflections. Maybe emoticons will help.

RNG: Not going to happen, Babe. I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you sent this to Morelli.

PLM: Look! A puppy!

RNG: This could be interpreted as more than partial consent.

PLM: Wha?

RNG: Babe. You've as much as admitted to Morelli that we've been intimate. You've pretty much given a laundry list of ways in which I've ruined you. He's more than likely on his way over here to attempt premeditated homicide. Throw me a bone, here. You want me bad. You're in a state.

PLM: Technically I think it would be considered a crime of passion.

RNG: No crimes are going down tonight. Tank will let him cool his heels for a bit and when I'm done talking with you, if he wants to talk to me, we'll talk. If the discussion escalates, he can take it up with me in the ring.

PLM: I think I'm going to throw up.

RNG: What are you wearing?

PLM: A little tank top and…NO! Let's talk about something else.

RNG: Such as?

Crap. Completely different topic. If I ignore the subject, it might completely go away!

PLM: What's on your 'Guilty Pleasures' play list?

RNG: WTF?

PLM: On your iPod.

RNG: What will I get in exchange for this?

PLM:To be determined later.

RNG: To be determined now.

PLM: Fine. For each song you admit to, you can ask me a burning question.

RNG: This is highly classified information.

PLM: Yes, Sir.

RNG: I like that. I'd like to hear more of that…okay: Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell.

PLM: Doh!

RNG: Question: Did you send the e mail to Morelli to instigate a break up?

PLM: Yes.

RNG: Mr. Roboto by Styx.

PLM: Secret, secret, I've got a secret!

RNG: Are you going to go back to him again?

PLM: No. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

RNG: I Wear My Sunglasses at Night by Corey Heart.

PLM: He turns me on, too.

RNG: Are you a faithful lover?

PLM: I _knew_ that would bite me in the ass. You're a poacher!

RNG: Correct. Answer the question.

PLM: I have only ever participated if _poachful _activities with you.

RNG: I'll ask you again. Are you a faithful lover?

PLM: Yes. I'll swear on a case of Tastykakes.

RNG: For future reference, Babe, kisses count, I don't share, and you _will_ come home in the panties you left the house in.

PLM: Should I be writing this down?

RNG: Cherry Pie by Warrant.

PLM: Mmmmm…

RNG: That's my line. Did you really not enjoy that one night?

PLM: If I had enjoyed it any more, you would have had to put my doo-dah in a sling.

RNG: Your doo-dah?

PLM: You've seen it. You could pick it out in a line up.

RNG: You know what I want you to call it. We'll work on that. I'll put together a training manual. When Doves Cry by Prince.

PLM: How's that a guilty pleasure? Prince is the bomb.

RNG: He's small, effeminate, and he prances. You do the math. Are you in love?

PLM: Desperately.

RNG: Sex You Up by Color Me Badd.

PLM: Stop it! My shower message is on the blink.

RNG: Babe. She Drives Me Crazy by Fine Young Cannibals.

PLM: What are they even saying? And what's going on with his voice?

RNG: Do you have _any_ idea how much I love you, Babe?

PLM: Things are getting clearer.

RNG: Stay by Lisa Loeb

PLM: Oh…

RNG: Yeah. But also, she is really hot in those glasses. I've got to sign off now. There's a cop in the lobby requesting an audience.

Holy Batcrap.

One hour later…

1 new text message

FR: TANK

How the hell do you open a text message? Give me a break, it's a new phone. Where's my frickin' manual?

30 minutes later…

FR: TANK

In route to E.R.

Great match, no fatalities.

Costanza 2 p.u. Joe upon discharge.

Your presence is advised.

Cripes.


End file.
